


so much you can't hide

by livtontea



Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Compliant, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Drabble Collection, Gen, I Blame Tumblr, No Incest, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2020-09-06 07:49:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20287978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livtontea/pseuds/livtontea
Summary: Various short ficlets I wrote based on tumblr (and discord) things. (asks/prompts/aus/hcs all that jazz you know the drill.)Title from Goody Two Shoes





	1. Children of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> requests/drabbles from tumblr lol :) im @zontiky if u wanna hmu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [klaus just wants to see his siblings. he doesn't know what he's asking for.](https://seven-misfits.tumblr.com/post/186892582222/i-just-thought-of-something-really-sad-in-the)

“Dad, let me out!”

The ghosts around him are screaming, screaming, screaming. Klaus can feel each noise vibrate through his eardrums, the echoing voices grating against his ears.

“Dad!”

Nobody is coming, he knows. He’s alone in the mausoleum, curled up in the corner with nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.

“Leave me alone,” he shouts, giving up on calling for Dad. “Please!”

The ghost nearest to him screeches his name, loud. Klaus winces. “Stop it!”

Louder, louder, louder they scream, calling his name. Whether it’s “Klaus” or “Four” or “Number Four” is lost in translation. And does it really matter either way?

He wishes he could have one of his siblings with him. Ben or Vanya or Diego would be good for hugging, they always let him cling to them after particularly rough nights. Of course, Ben reads his book and doesn’t acknowledge Klaus, Diego rolls his eyes and half-heartedly tries to pry him away, and Vanya sits there like a statue until he lets go.

Any sibling would do though, right now. He doesn’t want to be alone.

An ear-splitting wail slices through the clamor of the ghosts. Klaus pales.

It’s one of the babies.

He doesn’t know why there are so many infants in the mausoleum. They’re never part of the beginning crowd, always showing up later, after Klaus has already screamed his throat sore. As far as he knows, none of them are buried here.

There’s dirt under his nails.

“Shut up!”

Another baby joins the first. The two are loud, louder than all of the other ghosts. Klaus can’t see them, the babies. All he can see is an ocean of cacophonous ghosts clawing with intangible fingers for his attention.

“Stop!”

It gets louder. More and more howling children appear in the mausoleum, their voices mixing together into one huge cocktail of pain. Klaus hits his ears with the palms of his hands, over and over again. His ears are ringing. His head is tight with pain.

“Just shut up,” he chants, over and over again. “Shut up!”

_“Klaus.”_

_“KLAUS!”_

He screams.

It lasts until the morning. Once Dad opens the door and light floods into Klaus’s prison, it’s like none of the phantoms were there at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klaus Hargreeves and the Babies He Shares Some Sort Of Supernatural Connection With


	2. Twelve through Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [so uh,, these two pages huh?](https://seven-misfits.tumblr.com/post/187095813057/hotel-oblivion-issue-6-pg-12-13-so-uh-these)

Klaus blinks awake. There are little nubs feeding air into his lungs, IV’s attached to his arms.

He feels like shit. (It’s not unexpected.)

“They didn’t think you were going to make it.”

A voice echoes through the hospital room. It’s rattling through the air, rough from misuse. Klaus has that particular tingle he gets when ghosts are near.

“All that ability going to waste, all that potential cast aside,” it continues. There are only a certain amount of choice people who would lecture him on throwing away his life, as they tend to put it.

“Ben…?”

Quiet and weak. One of those words not often used when describing Klaus. The other a common term.

Ben gets up.

“You just keep pumping that poison into your body,” he says, rolling his eyes and his head along with them. One of his long bony fingers is already reaching out, pointing at Klaus. “So selfish… Such a shame…” He trails off like he knows there’s no use repeating what he has told Klaus so many times.

“Ben, I--”  
  
Ben interrupts him, his firm voice slicing into Klaus’s sentence. He’s standing just over where Klaus is laying, now. “You’ve got so much you can offer this world. More than I can, anymore.” Anymore. More than he can, _anymore_.

Klaus’s eyes drift towards the cracked and gaping hole in Ben’s stomach. He’s still wearing the mask, the cape. Both are worn, and the cape is ripped and tattered. Just like when he died.

“It’s coming.”

Klaus can’t force any words out of his throat.

“You better be ready.” It almost sounds like a threat.

Klaus blinks, and the door opens, Diego rushing into the room with a call of “Klaus--”, Luther and Lupo behind him. The door opens, and Ben is gone.

“What is it?” Luther asks, looking different from when Klaus last saw him.

He smiles, a small tired tilt of his mouth, just the corners of his lips moving up.

“Oh, ya know…” If he concentrates, he can almost hear a quiet inhale. “...Ghosts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Séance and Horror, the original founders of the "I Died" club.


	3. Eight and Twenty, Twelve, Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [hotel oblivion: issue #5, pg. 8 & 20](https://seven-misfits.tumblr.com/post/187130460402/hotel-oblivion-issue-5-pg-8-20)
> 
> [hotel oblivion: issue #6 pg. 12 & 13](https://seven-misfits.tumblr.com/post/187095813057/hotel-oblivion-issue-6-pg-12-13-so-uh-these)

Klaus has a fly on his face.

A small buzzing insect, crawling along his brother's pale visage. Klaus's nose and upper lip have blood crusted to the skin.

Ben stands over his limp form, staring at limbs lying on garbage bags. Klaus's shirt is unbuttoned halfway, most of his chest exposed to the air.

_I told you so,_ Ben thinks. He bends down, his arms reaching under Klaus's shoulder blades and knees. Ben stands straight, holding his brother in a princess carry.

He starts walking.

Ben himself is cloaked in shadow, hidden by the dark. Klaus with his bloodstained pink shirt stands out, but it’s alright. Nobody notices the passed out junkie in the dead man’s arms.

He walks with a purpose, weaving through streets and alleys. Eventually, they’re in the city.

“You better never do this again,” Ben mutters as Huxley General Hospital comes into view. “I’m not always going to be there to save your sorry ass.”

He drops Klaus in front of the hospital doors. Yellow light streams from the inside onto Klaus’s cold form, enhancing the brokenness of his body. Ben watches as a nurse rushes out to his brother, one hand reaching to feel his pulse.

He fades. His job is done.

  
Or maybe it’s not, because Ben finds himself in a stiff hospital chair next to the bed Klaus is in. He’s hooked up to IV’s and a breathing machine, oxygen being fed to his lungs.

Klaus looks damaged. Broken. Wasted.

Ben tells him. So much potential, so much power wasted on his sibling. So much ability to do good and help, so much life, all thrown down the drain.

He loves his brother, he really does, but sometimes he can’t help but feel bitter that The Horror was the one who died. A bit bitter that out of all the siblings, the one who can see ghosts is Klaus.

That’s all Ben is anymore. A ghost.

“It’s coming,” he tells Klaus.

Klaus says nothing. Just stares at Ben with wide eyes, an emotion Ben can’t read flickering inside them.

Ben leans in, just a bit.

“You better be ready.”

Maybe it’s a threat. He doesn’t know.

The door slams open, and Ben fades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 00.06, The Horror, Ben Hargreeves.


	4. Ashes Ashes, We All Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> timeline one

Vanya is playing.

Ben doesn’t know what, but the music is quick, fast-paced. He remembers when he was still alive, when he would sit next to Vanya as she practiced she would usually play slow, melodic pieces. This is the complete opposite.

Leonard, or Harold, is circling her. He has a gun in his hands, aiming it at anybody who tries to come close. He’s laughing. Laughing as everything is threatening to crumble around him, like the madman that he is.

Luther keeps trying to get through to Vanya. Ben doesn’t know if that would be a good thing.

Diego is throwing knives left and right, trying to hit Vanya. He does, almost. His aim is perfect, after all, but the white energy around their sister acts like a shield, deflecting all and any weapons coming at her.

Allison is drifting around the stage, her hands held out like she wants to hug her sister but doesn’t know how, like she’s suddenly a stranger to this new being with an invisible orchestra accompanying her playing.

Klaus is… Klaus isn’t doing much. He’s high, for one thing, and out of practice, for another. He’s just jumping up and down, shouting things and trying to land a punch on somebody.

And in the middle of it all is Vanya.

“Please stop,” mumbles Ben to his sister. “You’re going to do something stupid.”

Vanya plays and plays and plays without stopping. Harold shoots and shoots and shoots, without hesitating. Ben’s siblings explode into chaos over and over and over again, getting slower each time.

“Van. You’re making a mistake.”

An arpeggio.

“Please, Vanya. You’re hurting them. You’re hurting yourself.”

Harold fires the gun and nails Luther in the shoulder, who winces in pain but doesn’t stop the smooth movement that is him throwing himself at Harold. Ben doesn’t really know what happens next, but Harold screams and Luther has a bloody eye clutched in his hand.

A gunshot rings out close to Vanya. And then everything collapses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vanya Kills Everything, Take One


	5. Callus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i was told that a drabble is exactly 100 words. i accept the challenge.

How hard can you hit? Is what he hears as his fist burns and his fingers clench tight, their pads rubbed raw. How hard can you make it hurt? How hard can you make _them_ hurt? He doesn’t know and doesn’t want to find out, but walking away is never an option.  
  
His hand grips the knife tighter and his arm winds back again to throw it at the target. The faint smell of blood drifting up from his hands fades into the background. He hurls the dagger and…  
  
And he misses by an inch. Fear dominates his feeble senses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diego Hargreeves and his perfect aim.


	6. Zipper Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Episode 3; 31:35-31:39](https://seven-misfits.tumblr.com/post/189290885782/the-flashback-from-ep3-when-they-get-ready-for-the)

Ben tries to tug the zipper of his costume up, but it doesn’t budge. The mission alarm is blaring, lights flashing red. They have to go soon, and…

His zipper is stuck.

Oh no.

Ben can already feel the cold rearing its head in the abdomen. The zipper is stuck, and he won’t be able to go on the mission, so then nobody will be there to—

_ No, no, don’t think about that. _ Ben rushes out of his room. He’s still yanking at his zipper, but it just doesn’t  _ move. _

“Boys will be boys,” says somebody from just down the hall Ben is speedwalking through, the voice accompanied by the clicking of heels on linoleum.

Mom sees him, and bends down immediately. “Oh, Ben.”

“It— It’s stuck,” Ben says.

Mom wiggles Ben’s zipper, almost instantly pulling it up to the collar. She straightens and smiles at him—hard and warm, and Ben nods in thanks before speeding down the hall once more.

“Guys, wait for me!” he calls out. It would really suck for the others if they went on a mission without him there to bring an end to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben Hargreeves and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Zipper.


	7. BBQ time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [heck yeah babey](https://seven-misfits.tumblr.com/post/612063163458977792/the-hargreeves-having-a-bbq-in-celebration-of)

Here’s how it goes:

The world is fixed. Balance is restored. Everyone is back in their rightful time, and Five finally stops with the horrible uniform blazers. Nobody remembers whose idea it was, but every one of them swears that after they figure it out, blood will be shed.

A barbeque. 

There is nothing good that comes from seven super-powered assholes (Ben is included in both of those categories, Klaus insists) trying to grill things.

None of them have even attended a barbeque before. Vanya was invited, once; a mother of a friend of a friend of one of her students asked if she’d like to come to their biannual family reunion. (Why was she invited to some woman’s biannual family reunion? Vanya still doesn’t know her name.) She didn’t go.

(Allison claims she’s been to a barbeque. A fancy celebrity one, with silk napkins and champagne. It’s probably true, but doesn’t give her any leverage with grilling sausages.)

This is a gateway to hell. In Five’s words, and in Diego’s agreement. He has to shout his words of approval over his shoulder as he smothers the flame on the grill. Luther stands hopelessly to the side, tongs in hand and a very classy _Hug the Cook_ apron smeared with grease.

(“It’s ‘_kiss_ the cook,’” said Allison two hours prior. “Not ‘hug’.” 

“Allie, be a dear and pass me the new fabric markers,” Klaus told her instead of acknowledging her rightful... righteousness. “These ones are almost out.”

Ben kept scribbling over the first word on the apron. “We’re siblings. It’s gross otherwise.”)

The apron has been passed on from person to person in the span of the barbeque. It’s way too small for Luther, just hanging over his neck like a backwards cape. When Five was given the task of cooking the patties (_forced,_ he hisses, _I was forced into it_) he was completely swathed in the bright pink fabric.

Vanya stands to the side. She has a cooler next to her, a big orange one with a nozzle that’s supposed to pour drink but only ends up lamely dripping lemonade into their red crunchy cups. Ben sits on top of it, sucking on a popsicle.

“Sometimes,” he says to her without turning, “you just want to watch the world burn.”

Vanya looks at how red Diego’s face is. The flames don’t seem to be stopping. Allison has resorted to trying to rumor away the fire. (To no avail.) Klaus is laying on the grass blowing bubbles at the sky.

“Sure,” she says. And then adds, “Do you think we should... help them?”

“Hell no. This is hilarious.”

“Who started the fire, anyway?”

Five walks up to her from behind, making her flinch. He has a burnt sausage speared onto a kebab stick. He takes a bite emotionlessly. “It was Ben.”

“It was me.”

“...Okay.”

They keep watching Diego and Allison dance around the flaming grill. Five wanders away again, walking up to Klaus and forcefully plopping himself down on his stomach. Klaus squeaks in pain, but doesn’t push him off.

Later, when the fire is extinguished and everyone thoroughly smells like smoke, Diego says:

“That was a shitshow.”

The others chorus their agreements.

“We should totally do it again.”

Luther finishes trashing the completely burnt meats—wrapped in the hideous apron—and says, “We are never doing that again.”

Five slaps Ben a high-five.

“Best. BBQ. Ever.”

Klaus burps a bubble.


	8. audio inside your mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > anonymous asked:  
[I love your writing!! could you write an angsty Five centric thing please?](https://zontiky.tumblr.com/post/626175193778405376/i-love-your-writing-could-you-write-an-angsty)  


“You’re doing it wrong.”

“What do you know,” says Five.

“Your handwriting is still terrible.”

“Shut up,” says Five, and the next number he writes isn’t as crooked as the last.

“I think you’re trying too hard.”

Five whips around to give Allison a piece of his mind, but nobody is there. He grits his teeth and turns back to his numbers. Alone.

It would do his fucking brain some good to remember that.

_

“Your sevens look wonky.”

“They do not.” Five’s sevens are careful and neat and have a line through them to distinguish from his ones.

“Yeah, they totally do. The line’s lopsided. What do you think, Ben?”

Five won’t turn around. Nobody is there. Unless he gets this right, nobody will ever be there.

“I think they’re fine.”

“Ehhh.”

“You can tell they’re sevens, right? That’s good enough.”

“Thank you!” says Five, and the voices in his head cut off. He writes a seven without a line and purses his lips at the strangeness of it. He’ll have to change the way his ones look. For clarity.

_

“Dad told you this was gonna happen.”

“What? The getting stuck in the future bit, or the hallucinating my dead siblings? Because neither of these were in the time-travel guide.”

“...He said it would mess with your mind. You hallucinate us?”

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing right now,” mutters Five. He takes another swig of vodka (he thinks it’s vodka) and coughs at the burn going down his throat.

“You never see us.”

“Auditory.”

“Oh. Good luck with that.”

“Cheers,” says Five, and does his best to down half the bottle.

_

“Y’know,” he giggles, throwing his hand out to palm the ground for Dolores’. He finds it and slots their fingers together. “It’s, it’s so stupid, yanno? I mean, how pathetic am I, to imagine my dead—dead, they’re dead! Haha—siblings talking to me? All, the goddamn, all the goddamn time.”

Dolores smiles at him.

“Wish they’d go away. You get it, right? If they’re gone I can… I can focus, y’know? Do my—” he hiccups “—m’ math… I gotta get to the math, Dolores, finish it and get back… back.”

“I know, Five.”

Five closes his eyes.

“You’re drunk,” Dolores says softly. “Go to sleep. I’ll still be here.”

“Thanks, Dolores,” he slurs. Five pats her hand consolingly. “You’re a—you’re a real one.”


	9. sleep the pain away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > anonymous asked:  
[Hey hey hey liv 👀👀👀 liv, hey 👀👀👀👀 hey,,,,, what if,,,,,, you wrote an angsty Ben drabble,,, 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀](https://zontiky.tumblr.com/post/626027056943284224/hey-hey-hey-liv-liv-hey-hey-what)  


The knock on his door makes him flinch so hard it feels like his skin ripples.

“Yeah?” Ben calls out, skin sweat-soaked and voice wet enough to match.

“Honey,” he hears Mom’s voice, muffled through the door, “are you alright? You missed dinner.”

Ben’s hands are trembling. Killer’s hands, child’s hands, horror’s hands —it’s all the same to the people whose blood smears his lapels.

“Yeah, Mom.” His voice is fake-steady, quivering at the edges. “Yeah, everything’s okay. I’m just—” Desperate, torn, shivering, cold, a killer— “not hungry. And, uh, tired.”

“Alright. Well, if you change your mind, there’s some cookies downstairs.” Mom has a teasing lilt to her voice, like she’s trying to cheer him up. Ben isn’t religious but he prays that she doesn’t decide to open the lock-less door. “Chocolate chip. Your favorite.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

He hears Mom’s heels clack-clack-clack as she turns and walks down the hallway. Ben lets out a heavy breath, licking his lips and tasting iron.

His jacket is soaked. The mission today was messy. He forgot to pull his shirt up. It’s torn open and the blazer is red too, the fraying threads dyed a still-damp vermillion, so potent it’s almost black.

He knows it’s pointless. He’s hiding in his room, like a coward, but Mom will see his uniform later anyway. She’ll tut and throw it away and he’s an abomination, so it’s going to go straight to the incinerator. All that will be left of the dead men in the lobby will be newspaper clippings and ashes.

Ben notices, vaguely, that his hands are shaking and his breath is short. His ruined clothes smear blood against his skin. Around his mask the blood is already dry—flaking off to decorate the floor like the world’s worst birthday party.

His stomach churns. It hurts, too—his organs writhe beneath his skin and he’s not hungry. He feels like he’ll never be hungry again.

He feels dead.

Ben falls backward onto the floor and lets his arms drop to his side. With the screams of the people he’s killed today echoing in his ears and blood imprinted on the inside of his eyelids, he lets himself drift into a fitful sleep.

Dad doubles his training the next day as punishment for missing dinner.


	10. sleep the pain away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> >   
anonymous asked:  
[Hey hey hey liv 👀👀👀 liv, hey 👀👀👀👀 hey,,,,, what if,,,,,, you wrote an angsty Ben drabble,,, 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀](https://zontiky.tumblr.com/post/626027056943284224/hey-hey-hey-liv-liv-hey-hey-what)  


The knock on his door makes him flinch so hard it feels like his skin ripples.

“Yeah?” Ben calls out, skin sweat-soaked and voice wet enough to match.

“Honey,” he hears Mom’s voice, muffled through the door, “are you alright? You missed dinner.”

Ben’s hands are trembling. Killer’s hands, child’s hands, horror’s hands —it’s all the same to the people whose blood smears his lapels.

“Yeah, Mom.” His voice is fake-steady, quivering at the edges. “Yeah, everything’s okay. I’m just—” Desperate, torn, shivering, cold, a killer— “not hungry. And, uh, tired.”

“Alright. Well, if you change your mind, there’s some cookies downstairs.” Mom has a teasing lilt to her voice, like she’s trying to cheer him up. Ben isn’t religious but he prays that she doesn’t decide to open the lock-less door. “Chocolate chip. Your favorite.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

He hears Mom’s heels clack-clack-clack as she turns and walks down the hallway. Ben lets out a heavy breath, licking his lips and tasting iron.

His jacket is soaked. The mission today was messy. He forgot to pull his shirt up. It’s torn open and the blazer is red too, the fraying threads dyed a still-damp vermillion, so potent it’s almost black.

He knows it’s pointless. He’s hiding in his room, like a coward, but Mom will see his uniform later anyway. She’ll tut and throw it away and he’s an abomination, so it’s going to go straight to the incinerator. All that will be left of the dead men in the lobby will be newspaper clippings and ashes.

Ben notices, vaguely, that his hands are shaking and his breath is short. His ruined clothes smear blood against his skin. Around his mask the blood is already dry—flaking off to decorate the floor like the world’s worst birthday party.

His stomach churns. It hurts, too—his organs writhe beneath his skin and he’s not hungry. He feels like he’ll never be hungry again.

He feels dead.

Ben falls backward onto the floor and lets his arms drop to his side. With the screams of the people he’s killed today echoing in his ears and blood imprinted on the inside of his eyelids, he lets himself drift into a fitful sleep.

Dad doubles his training the next day as punishment for missing dinner.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://zontiky.tumblr.com/) produces many things, and i enjoy writing them. hit me up there if you'd like


End file.
